An Honest Proposal
by Moonchild1212
Summary: One Shot - AU - SS/HG - After the war, two unlikely lover's find each other. Earns rating.


Disclaimer:

JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe. I make no money from these efforts and appreciate the opportunity to borrow her characters.

This story is based on LOTPM challenge:

Length: Minimum 1000 words, No maximum

Format: Open (can be a one-shot or multiple chapters)

Completion: Does not need to be complete but chapters submitted must include Severus Snape

Due Date: August 31

Content Rules: You must craft a story that involves Severus Snape dealing with a former or current rival. There must be a romance component, but it does not have to be the primary plot-point. Your story should also involve the following three topics: A dress, friendship, and at least one non-human character (ie. a pet, magical creature or being, etc.)

Please add your name in the comments if you would like to participate!

(Warning this starts off and ends with a lemon, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I understand)

An Honest Proposal

"I, Motty the House Elf, have a stories to tells - about love, loss, and fates. It begans the night Motty saw her master, Severus Snape, die. Then, the girl came . . . "

"You're safe," a soft voice whispered gently in his throbbing ear. Sputtering, Severus Snape struggled to swallow as the potions trickled down his throat and roiled in his unsettled gullet. His tongue worked reflexively, pulling at the ruined muscles and sinew in his throat. Recently severed nerves flared agonizingly back to life, making him nearly regurgitate as the pain hit him full force. The acrid tang of the blood replenishing potion assailed his olfactory nerves as his senses sharpened. Someone was murmuring over the ravages of his neck, and the tiny pinpricks of pain seemed to light his skin on fire as the flesh knit quickly. It was delicate work, and only a truly talented witch could have managed it. The sounds in the boathouse dimmed as the pain escalated, and he lost consciousness shortly after.

Coming to later in a flood of bright light and soft linen, he felt that time seemed to meander among brief flashes of coherence; it only took a moment for him to succumbed to slumber once again.

He vaguely recalled swallowing reflexively as soothing liquids filled him , and a gentle arm cradled his neck. Floating, he was floating on a tide of darkness, and waking yet again later, he inhaled deeply, sucking in warm, salty air.

Once again the world came into focus. The subtle outlines of shadows were juxtaposed with errant trails of moonlight, pouring through the large windows like liquid silver. Clouds intermittently wavered across the face of the moon, darkening the room in gaping shadow. The fragrance around him seemed imbued with peace and tranquility, and the sheets, stirred by the annoyingly playful breeze that flitted through the large, open windows, tickled his skin. The bed linens had apparently seen more than their fair share of refreshing charms. He turned his face, grimacing in pain as he buried his prodigious nose into the pillow and inhaled languorously, knowing that his sharp senses were right on target.

Every teenage boy, who loathed the inconvenience of washing clothing but realized the necessity of hygiene where the fairer sex was concerned, had at one time or another tested the limits of a refreshing charm. They could only do so much before it was necessary to either wash the item or burn it. Human sweat left oils that embedded themselves in fibers and were often difficult to remove without proper washing. Even house elves knew this. The poor buggers would often venture into the boy's dorms on laundry raids when the rooms began to smell He chuckled and hissed as the pain flared, and the swift intake of air chilled his mouth. He surmised that it would take some time to grow accustomed to using his newly restored vocal chords.

Gauging from the smell and the pain, he assumed that he had been here for at least ten days. It was in his mind to suspect that he has been captured and was being held prisoner, but he dismissed this quickly. Why would anyone who might have desired to hold him captive have bothered to provide him with clean sheets much less a mattress? He lifted his head gingerly, pulled up the covers tentatively, and frowned. He was naked but for a pair of boxers.

"The tightly whities just weren't doing it for me," a female voice said softly.

Startled, he looked toward the sound and reached, fumbling awkwardly, for his nonexistent wand on a nearby nightstand.

"Merlin's beard, stay still," The voice chided as he knocked over a glass of water, sending it crashing violently into the floor. He couldn't make out her distinct features in the dim room, but the form that advanced was thin and lithe with a head full of hair and a pair of firm, bouncing tits that immediately caught his eyes. Her hand pressed into the damp skin on his chest, pushing him back into the bed.

Reacting swiftly, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her beside him in a tangle of warm, soft, bare limbs. The oversized t-shirt she wore slipped up, revealing her plain, white, cotton knickers, which seemed to glow in the darkness. Muffled squeals met his ear as the momentum planted her face firmly into the bed clothes"Who are you and where the fuck am I?" He demanded in a very rough imitation of his old, familiar baritone as he held her fast.

"Mmmm! Mmmm!" She yelled into the pillow.

"What?" He hissed hoarsely, pressing her further into the bed. Those who had known him had seen him diminish as the stress wore away at his body, but what was left of Severus Snape was far from feeble. Cords of muscle stood out on his arms and his back, and his taut upper body pressed into the woman below him.

The sensation was not lost on her either, the young woman who had tended him so carefully and was now more than passingly familiar with his form.

She squirmed beneath him frantically, kicking and pushing until he was coherent enough to realize her dilemma, she couldn't breathe. Gripping her forearms, he pulled her to him, twisting so that she lay on her side caught in his vice like grip. Thoughts of her tending him this way, half dressed, swirled through his mind, and he surmised that she was no stranger to him and must be somewhat comfortable in his presence, having tended him so intimately.

Her gasp seemed uncommonly loud, so near as his body pressed against her squirming form. He coughed as her unruly hair attempted to invade his lungs. Turning his aching neck away and arching his back so that he could manage to speak without a cloud of the bushy strands tickling his vocal cords, he cursed violently. "Nimue's teets!" growling, he situated himself so that he could speak while laying against her. His body seemed to seek hers unconsciously, maintaining as much contact with her as possible.

She seemed to settle quietly against him now that she could breathe. Long, warm limbs lay calmly against his own, and there was a part of him that was sorely tempted to see just how comfortable she might be in his grasp. His life had been spent practicing a personal brand of severe asceticism in order to keep him focused. That part of his life was over. It was all over, and the relief and anger that he was not taken as well rushed over him like a powerful tidal wave. He gave into it, and he discovered in his anger a sense of relief that he was yet here. Relief that he had not died and faced whatever fate awaited a man as unworthy as he. Having spent the better part of his life paying penance, he realized that he was not immune to the taint of evil that had saturated those around him. Wasn't he just as guilty as others, having watched innocents die and having done nothing to stop it? Would Charity Burbage offer him forgiveness? Not likely.

Not likely. Grief and an unmanageable pain gave way to want for human touch, a want for a connection, that he had been denied. Would she give it to him? She had given him succor this far, would she yield more to him willingly?

His hands slid up slowly to cup her breasts. When she relaxed instead of flinching, he became more bold, insinuating his knee between her legs as his long fingers pulled quickly at the soft, worn fabric of her shirt. Making free with her person, he slid his questing hands under the flimsy cotton to cup her breast tentatively.

Her hand, now free to move, slipped up to push her unruly hair behind her head and seemed to hover over his hip in indecision as she brought it down. It was like a little bird, flitting indecisively from branch to branch unsure. Never one to lose an opportunity, he drew his face near hers, his warm breath teasing the fine hairs on her ear, "May I?" He asked as he slid his right hand down her flat stomach. The warm flesh felt like velvet under his well-worn hands. She nodded, freeing some of her infuriating hair, whose tendrils tickled his skin fitfully.

He sniffed, blowing the fine strands from his face, "You are going to have to speak plainly. I'll not have you say I took advantage of you later." He warned in that unearthly, resonant voice that was at once foreign and familiar. Oh, those thirty-six years of day-dreams, research, and wanking hadn't prepared him for this.

"Yes, please," She bid him softly as she arched her hips. His hands explored, slipping across her unadorned knickers and stroking the mound of her sex. He felt the heat radiating from her, and though he suffered a dearth of experience, he made up for it with the tempered eagerness of a mature man.

Images of loss, death, and pain . . . past and present, flooded his mind as he grimaced, pressing his face against the soft skin of her cheek: inhaling, he took in the soft, feminine smell of her, the intoxicating relief her body offered from those memories. Lips, whose purpose had never been tender, opened carefully, and delicately he kissed first tentative, slowly trailing kisses against her flesh, that beautiful long neck, as his finger slipped trembling beneath the elastic band of her panties.

Her receptive sounds were not lost on him nor was the flexing of her supple body or the unconscious parting of her legs as his finger slipped between the cleft of her sex. The notion of a woman responding to him in such a fashion had been inconceivable to this point. He had been an unwanted entity for so long that it had become ingrained to rebuff others before they could reject him. This woman, who undoubtedly knew who he was, seemed eager for his attention. He imagined that she was some nurse contracted to see to his needs. She probably suffered under some delusion that he was a hero, most likely. Had she taken liberties already as she had cared for him? He wondered, smiling into the warm, throbbing skin of her throat, the disturbing memories of his past, fading quickly at the onslaught of this pleasure.

Deftly tracing the sensitive nub of her sex, his finger teased, playing at a task he had only ever imagined before dipping into the tight entrance of her quim. He was pleased by her eager response as she bucked against his finger's slow invasion. His own shaft had lengthened, now pressing into the cleft of her bottom. Delicious friction, that heady combination of lust and physical presence all entwined to bring him to some euphoric state. In this moment, he was neither spy nor potion's master. He was man, she was woman, and they ate of the fruit greedily, together, the old narrative made new.

Arching against him, she created a beguiling sensation that was impossible to resist; his hips thrust, and his fingers kept up their gentle torture as his left hand cupped and plucked. Lovely strains, mewls escaped her as he played her instrument wonderingly, hoping that he would get yet another chance at this play, curious as to where this moment might lead, and divorced from the ability to perceive consequences. Expectations were gone, and he was free to explore. Like any good adventurer, he dove in head first; his fingers released her breast, reaching down to pull down his boxers. Warm, swollen flesh met hers as his rhythm continued. His fingers returned to their duty to those swollen buds. Dipping, plucking, and sucking, he supped on her. Nudging, he sought to position for entrance.

Yet, her cries grew as his fingers played, and he was loath to halt her current enjoyment. He was in awe as her muscles quivered, she shouted, and a flood of moisture wet his fingers. Not completely ignorant, having studied the matter fastidiously in print, he thrust his fingers vigorously as she writhed, as she screamed. Her hand reached up to stroke his face, and he kissed those naked fingers, sucking as he wrung every ounce of pleasure from her, preparing to take his own.

However, this charming scene of decadence was not to continue. The door to the room, which had previously stood only slightly ajar, slammed open with a great crescendo, at once upsetting him and his wanton witch. For, already he had come to think of her as his. That she was untried had been evident in the frantic motions he had noted in her hands and the slightly awkward writhing of her hips. Not the least convincing had been the thin membrane he had felt, still intact, and there was a very male part of him that wanted to be the first.

He sat up, cradling her trembling form to his own gently. Pulling her shirt down, he positioned her bodily so that she concealed his own aching flesh while preserving her modesty. His fingers dug into the sheets, pulling them over their bare limbs before reaching behind her to pull up his boxers. His eyes flashed with anger, and any pain was forgotten for the moment as the electric bulbs flared to life, and he caught sight of none other than Sirius Black.

Where the fuck is my wand?" He yelled at her, the insensate creature, whose head lolled against the sensitive, pink skin of his neck. The tickle of her eyelashes was enough to drive him mad, and he was sorely tempted to finish this matter, Black in attendance or no.

"What have you done to her, you cretin!" He yelled as a pretty brunette peeked out from behind the door, slipping her hand around Sirius to touch his chest. Severus bristled, . . .as if she would hold the dog back. It was preposterous. "Did you touch her, you filthy bastard? After all that she has been through, you would bring her so low?" He yelled.

"Sirius, shut up," The wicked creature in his lap said, almost bored. He smiled devilishly at the dog.

"Well, now you'll have to marry him after this! As soon as the Ministry realizes that he has recovered girl, your games are at an end. You won't be able to keep them at bay, and you know they are going to hold you to your word!" Sirius fumed.

"Shut UP!" the little spit-fire yelled, turning toward the dog.

He had no idea what they were referring to. "Marry who?" He asked, his hand slipping over her upper arm as he spoke into her ear. She seemed to still at his question, but her hand slipped over his where it lay against her warm skin. She gripped his fingers tightly, and in that moment, he felt something odd. Her digits trembled as if the truth of the matter scared her. She thought he would turn her away? The woman who had nursed him? Even should she prove uncommonly ugly, he knew he would owe her a debt of gratitude that he would gladly pay, but he had yet to understand the nature of this need to marry . . . him? Why would the Ministry force such a thing?

"The Marriage Law went into effect the minute the battle finished. The ink dried; we cleaned up the mess, and the Ministry forced a solution to the dwindling population down our throats." Sirius barked, "Hermione, I wish you'd reconsider my offer. You know they would let me take you as well as Alyssa. I could love you both you know." He said consolingly as Alyssa peeped over his shoulder shyly, seeming quite amenable to the situation.

However, at the mention of the name of one of his former students, his blood ran cold. "Hermione Granger?" He murmured, feeling a tad sick that he might have violated a girl once under his charge.

He felt her fingers grip his tightly as he pushed her away quickly. He heard her tumble to the floor as he stumbled out the other side of the bed, unable to get away from her quick enough. He could not undo the damage, however. He slid his arm against the wall, his face pressed against the ropy muscle and knobby bones of his forearm and wrist. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry." He said shakily, wondering how he failed to notice her voice. It was changed, and she seemed nothing like the little girl who had set in his classroom. Indeed, he hadn't seen her in over a year. He turned shakily, looking through the ragged strands of his hair at the girl. The warm air seemed to fill his lungs unwillingly.

Her back was to him, and she stood tall, as tall as Black, who had to be at least 5'9. Her head was down, and that wild hair seemed to hide her face while conveying what he assumed was her shame. She had willingly lain in his arms. Hermione Granger, an undoubtedly brilliant witch, an annoying know it all, and his fucking student, former student his mind amended.

"Merlin," he wiped his face shakily, his eyes on her.

"You don't have to explain anything to him," Sirius said, reaching out as if to pull her to him. He watched as she shrunk back, turning from him. "Hermione, you know that I don't think less of you now." He watched the girl's shoulders straighten, her bearing change as she faced the beseeching face of Sirius Black.

"Think less of her?" He nearly shouted, "What, because I have somehow befouled her?" He yelled, striding around the bed like some unbridled storm. "You don't deserve her. Hell, I don't deserve her, and I'm not half the worthless mutt you are!" He was in the dog's face now, straining to keep from man-handling the beast.

"You don't know anything, you dolt." Sirius sneered up at him, "just look at her," he said almost piteously, "she was such a beautiful girl, still is, but . . ."

Severus turned to observe Miss. Granger, no Hermione, the woman who has responded to him had been Hermione he reminded himself. Her eyes also told him that Miss. Granger was no more. Half of her face, the left side, which had faced away from him as they had lain together, seemed to run together as if the flesh had melted.

"It was a potion," She said dispassionately, meeting his eyes. "Some fanatic threw it on me a week after the war when Ronald and I were out together. I was looking for a wedding dress. . . had found one " She trailed off for a moment, The mobs followed us everywhere." She shrugged, "I'm pretty sure it was Lavender, but I can't prove it." Her voice seemed leaden, her eyes dulled as she related the story. The Ministry's edict took effect immediately, and witches were scrambling to find husbands. The Ministry spiked the water supply, you see, an innocuous little potion that gave women that extra urge to reproduce. There were attacks on Ginny too, but she and Harry got lucky and left for America as soon as they fulfilled their duty and married. I couldn't force Ronald to marry me after" She gestured to her face " he couldn't even meet my eyes without disgust." Sighing, she pushed the hair from her face and faced him boldly. "The Ministry would show me no leniency and demanded that I marry. I told them that I was caring for you and intended to marry you as soon as you woke. I'm sorry for placing you in that situation. I've tried to find some way to help . . . this." She gestured to her face again, "but I've been unsuccessful. Maybe in time, but . . still, I don't expect you to agree anyway, even if I were not scarred. I know how you feel about me. I suppose . . . I hoped. Well, I don't know what I hoped." She said, giving him a wry smile.

"And, so, the gallant Mr. Weasley absconded with Miss. Brown, didn't he?" She nodded. "Of course he did." He sneered, turning from Black, "Well, it looks like you were sent a gracious reprieve by fate." He surmised. He had listened to Minerva rattle on about her cubs, and they had both agreed that the two, Granger and Weasley, seemed destined to make a terrible mistake. Had they had some semblance of a normal childhood, they would have likely figured out that they were wholly unsuitable long before making a terrible mistake and marrying.

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes large with unspoken shock before she gave way to laughter, "Yeah," she shook her head knowingly, "It would have been a disaster, no doubt." She sighed, "but fuck if I know what to do." She said, stepping back and falling back onto the bed dejectedly. There was something so free about her character, free from the self-conscious mannerisms that had so often plagued Miss. Granger. Hermione, in comparison, seemed quite relaxed, almost comfortable, now that he knew the score. She didn't hide her face from him either. His eyes followed her speculatively.

Conversely, Sirius seemed positively rabid, "He's an ungrateful little shit, is what he is!" He spat out. "You saved his life!" The tousled-haired man huffed as the brunette behind him, Alyssa, seemed to make a quick exit.

"Well, how very perceptive of you, mutt." Severus snarled as he sat down on the bed beside Hermione. The mattress bounced slightly, causing her body to undulate. He sat with his legs spread, and his elbows resting on his knobby knees as he leaned forward thoughtfully.

"This is ridiculous, Hermione, I've got the paperwork, if you'll just sign. You can be done with this farce and cut ties with this bastard," He said, gesturing to Severus, who glared at his long-time rival.

"I thought you died." Severus spat.

"And I thought you were dead, too, but she had to go and save you didn't she?" The mongrel cocked his head and smiled falsely at Severus. "For your information, Snape, I was stuck in some ungodly chamber in the Ministry. Some Auror accidentally blasted the "veil" that I fell through, releasing me from the spell." Pursing his lips, he turned to Hermione. "Shall I get the paper and make you my wife this evening Hermione?" He said, striding towards the girl, and kneeling beside the bed, he took her hand, pawing it eagerly.

Severus was disconcerted by the look in the man's eyes as he took in Hermione's form; something inside of him bridled and broke. Yet, before the words could leave his lips, Hermione sat up, ramrod straight, pulling her hand from Black's grasp. "Sirius, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not interested. I'm not interested in your pity. I'm not interested in your playboy lifestyle. I"m not interested in the way you humor me like some brainless twit. Your as bad as Ronald, patting me on the head like some good little girl who should know her place once she has served her purpose," She stood abruptly, looming over Black. Her teeth were bared; it was clear to Severus that this had been brewing for some time. How long HAD he been out?

he sat up, chilled a little as the breeze wafted through the window. He heard the thunder crackle in the distance as Hermione unconsciously pushed the wild hair from her face. He could see the strain in the way the tendons in her throat tightened. Yet, she was graceful, somehow poetic in her stance, reminding him in no little way of himself. He turned, eyeing her askance, wondering when Hermione had somehow . . . become.

"I'll manage. I appreciate your friendship, when it is in earnest, but please keep your unwanted pity. Respect me enough to understand that I know my own mind, and I can make competent decisions for myself, which is more than I can say for you." She sighed, "You know that I know Alyssa is barren, don't you?" She sighed at the shocked expression on Black's face, "So, I know what you're after. You think I'll be so grateful that you married me that I would accept some other woman in your bed. I'm not stupid enough to believe she would be the only one either," She chuckled, "I know that in my "condition" it is probably hopeless to think that I will find a match of much more than convenience, but I at least hope that I can marry someone who can offer intelligent conversation." It was spoken with the sort of earnestness that Miss. Granger was known for but a blunt reality that the girl had always been too tactful to deliver with efficacy. The woman before him seemed to manage it with ease.

He could deal with such a women, he surmised.

"And you think Snape," Sirius snapped, "would take you? You think he would offer you anything but cold disdain, a man who rutted with you and then threw you from his bed?" the nastiness seemed to boil from his skin as Sirius rose from his knees to stand toe to toe with the girl, his arm outstretched, his crooked finger pointing towards Severus' hooked nose.

The pale, potioneer sat almost dispassionately, watching the passion play unfold. He knew to interfere was foolhardy. She would have her say, and he had no objections to it. Black had yet to cross a line, and he was of the mind, having seen Minerva in action on more than one occasion, that most Gryffindor women were far from damsels in distress. Were the need to arise, he would step in.

"I was willing to take you after that foul creature used you!" He hissed.

"Used me? So I'm worthless without my virginity?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, her chin jutted as she questioned the fool.

Severus grinned ferally.

"What else have you to offer your husband but your virtue? Should that be tarnished, what have you? As intelligent as you are, what use is that to a man, a provider? You have no family, no name, no ancestry. Right now you don't even have an occupation." The man bit out, his face only inches from hers.

Hermine smirked nastily, "Ahh, well, technically," she said assuming the pert manner of Miss. Granger before slipping into a dialog that only Hermione could fashion, "You don't have a family either. You were disowned," She said almost patiently as if talking to a small child, "You have no money, fair provider. Indeed," She gestured to the structure around them, "this is my house," She shrugged and smiled, batting her eyes, "bought with money I invested in the worthless, Muggle stock market, using the college funds left me by my worthless Muggle parents." Her hands fell to her sides, "Honestly, Sirius, it isn't as if I didn't know how you felt. You can proclaim to fight against evil Death Eaters and claim to believe that all witches and wizards, and muggles are equal, but I know very well how you feel about women, how you treat them, how you use them, and how those social constructs you were raised with still persist in that small, animal brain of yours."

The scene could almost have been an intimate one, save for the glare that the mutt was giving her, Severus noted. Black's hands had gravitated towards his hips as he leaned in towards Hermione, but her pose was one of calm reflection.

The mutt's nose twitched, "Well, I'll leave then," He huffed.

"And where will you go?" She posited, "Harry kicked you out when he found out you were harassing Ginny. Ron won't let you near Lavender without constant supervision, and your own house is on the verge of being condemned." She rubbed her forehead, "Just go to bed," She waved him away and turned her back to him.

Severus noted that the man seemed at a loss, as if there were no words left in his repository to deal with a creature such as this. Clearly the woman had been too busy dealing with his own injuries to confront the building tension with Black. Here it was, finally out, and he found that he was satisfied that someone else had the lay of the land where the mutt was concerned. He only wished that James Potter had known just how familiar Black had been with his own wife, but he couldn't have done that to Lily, no matter how bad her rejection had stung. There was enough guilt to share on all accounts.

Black stormed from the room without another word, and silence seemed to well up between them.

"You are welcome to stay as long as you like. It's a big house, and I'll make sure he doesn't come near you." Those honeyed eyes met his, and he searched for Miss. Granger intently, but the girl was gone.

He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing like a cork. He was no prize, but he remembered well the feel of her in his arms, this woman whose face suddenly seemed so foreign yet familiar. The sharp planes of her visage reflected the trials, the loss of the last, soft vestiges of childhood wiped away. He knew the mind behind those eyes was keen, and for the life of him, he wondered how Weasley had let her go because he saw nothing but strength, beauty, and fire in those eyes. He respected her in a way that few women of his acquaintance had earned, save for his colleagues Minerva in particular. They were alike, those two firebrands.

How had these few moments transpired to bring him here, looking up at her thusly? They were half naked, and he could still smell her on him, almost feel the pressure of her skin against his, the presence of that razor wit only serving to further whet his appetite. What would a life with such a partner be? For, he knew her sense of dedication rivaled his own, her ability surpassed those of any student he had seen traverse the halls of Hogwarts. Could he ever hope to find anyone to compare to her? Could he ever hope to find a woman as amenable to his touch?

No.

The dilemma hung between them like some heavy, invisible current of air, oppressive in its stagnant breath. She waited, watching as he stood, "Hermione, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" He asked formally, standing before her like some plucked stork in a pair of black, silken boxers that made his ridiculously white legs look even more pallid and sicklyif that were possible.

He knew she had planned for this eventuality, and her lack of sentimentality spoke volumes about the treatment she had received - at the hands of Black, at the hands of her friends, and at the hands of her former beau. she was used to being taken for granted, and she expected to be humored - good old Hermione, who always comes through in a pinch. Hermione who was just one of the guys and "knew how they were"; they couldn't help themselves around prettier girls. Oh, he knew how she felt. He also knew how he had come to feel for her in such a short time, a kinship, a friendship that seemed new and exciting.

She nodded, "Of course," She said, with a wry tilt of her head.

Reaching out swiftly, he pulled her forward, her long body pressing against his willingly. He felt her arms reach around his neck as he leaned down to kiss her tentatively, his hand ghosting over the waxen skin of her mottled face. He knew he would heal her physically, but in these first touches, in this beginning he would heal her in other ways.

Nothing is so precise as the fingers or a deft potioneer, whose careful attention to detail predispose him to the nuance of subtle reactions and responses. Severus Snape was born to be a potioneer, and in this, born to be a lover, though his disposition had initially led him to eschewed the sort of emotional entanglements that taught most young men the fine art of relationship building. He had no time for games, blunt and curt. Where he might have given way for Lily, this avenue shut quickly.

Now, he found himself persisting despite the awkward misgivings that first half of his fouled life had given him, and he eagerly indulged in the opportunity for a new start. Letting go of the dream of youth, he seized the day, " We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay," He murmured, remembering the old muggle poet, of whom his mother had been so fond.

His lips trailed down the skin of Hermione's neck, his fingers alight with purpose as she responded to his ministrations, "You'll have me?" He whispered into her ear as he took her to bed.

"Yes," She trembled as the storm broke. His lips pressed to her, trailing reverently, seeking to please as the liquid drops hovered on the wind, a roaring elemental baptism. The lights flickered, and in the ensuing darkness she came undone as flashes lit the room with her frenzied pleasure. His mouth spoke secrets of which her body had only dreamed, and the sweet aching of those lonely souls merged.

He slid into her in a way that any number of trite metaphors might describe, but the truth of the matter was . . . it felt good. The understanding of two minds met in two bodies, of one accord they moved together seeking, thrusting, welcoming, and in the aching moment of vulnerability, they caught one another in release. It was a raw moment, whose complex orchestration was set into motion by thousands of decisions that yielded to responses, crafting individuals whose choices led them to this path. Perhaps in a kinder world they might have found each other as well, but one might reflect that in the reality of hurt and loss, no two people could be better fashioned for one another.

As you might expect, they were married hastily the next morning. Hermione decided not to wear the old wedding dress, and indeed, she was unable to when Severus set it ablaze. He suggested she wear the t-shirt, but she settled on a pretty, white sundress.

Sirius was nowhere to be found, and thereafter, many of his "friends" were happy enough to receive the occasional note or, in the case of Harry Potter, a request for a bit of blunt. Ronald Weasley was the proud father of several of dark-haired children, who looked suspiciously like Cormac McLaggen, and he seemed perpetually harried by both his mother and his bossy wife.

Hermione and Severus got along famously - they were the best of friends, and by that I mean, they were the sort of couple who could often be found shouting heatedly about Potions and Arithmetic theorems as frequently as they could be found, sometimes by their mischievous children, making hay in one of the many closets that littered their home. Eventually, the did learn to lock the doors before they got carried away.

But I, Motty, likes to unlocks the doors now and then. The little Snapes laugh, but the master doesn't know that Motty does it. Motty hope you won't tell.


End file.
